"This is for us?" I ask, taking in the six platters, three of meat, one fish, one goose, and one I assume might be goat all steaming in rich sauces and dressed in dates, almonds, honey or cheese. The other three platters contain a mix of flat and fluffy breads, more dates, cheeses, and olives and sauces that look a lot like tzatziki. There's enough food here to feed four people. Twice.
I glance up at him. "It does not please you?" he asks. A flicker of disappointment slides over his face, but he crushes it.
I stand. "What? How?!" I point at it all. "This is incredible. If this is breakfast, I can't wait to see what dinner looks like."
He continues to look perplexed, assessing the food for fault. "Prince of Egypt," I say soft. I wait until his eyes meet mine, the color of burnt cinnamon. "It pleases me very much."
He smiles. "I know nothing of your land or what you eat. I had the cooks prepare a little of everything to see what you liked."
I point at the roast goose. "I love roast fowl." Then I point at the fish. "This not so much."
He smiles. "I am not fond of fish either."
"Too many bones." We say in unison.
I start to laugh, but he looks so shocked it wipes the smile off my face. The silence stretches. "Um . . ." I begin, wondering what ancient Egyptian faux pas I have committed now. At the river, a crane bugles, long and loud. Prince Menkheperre shakes his head and gestures towards the seat.
"No fish, then," I say as I sit. "What's your preference?"
He smiles as he sits. Not to be cliché but it blindsides me a bit, how his whole face transforms with a real honest-to-god smile. "For me, it is lion meat roasted in goat's milk and honey."
"Imagine asking for lion meat at the butcher counter in Waitrose. That would get some shade," I say, caught once again by the differences of our worlds.
"I kill the lions I eat," he says with a quiet look. Again, I realise I have stepped wrong.
"Oh! No, I mean you killing lions in your world is insanely awesome. Like the odds are totally against you with your arrows and spears and distinct lack of protective gear. If you can kill a lion that's all claws, teeth, and muscle while wearing a skirt and sandals, that's pretty god-like."
He furrows his brow as his mind crunches through my words. I'm pretty sure he only understood the god-like part because after a beat, he smiles again.
"Hunting lions is needful. They kill our people and our animals. It is my duty to protect them."
"Then may god forgive me but the next lion you kill, I'd like to try the meat," I answer, taking a piece of flatbread to use as a kind of burrito since there's no eating utensils except for my hands. I proceed to try to tear a piece of goose meat from the platter, but the meat is still oven hot, and the grease is scalding. I pull back with a hiss and stick my fingers into my mouth.
He laughs and the melodious and warm sound gives me pleasant tingles. I wonder what it would be like to be held in his arms and hear him laugh, with my ear pressed to his chest. With one elegant motion, he pulls one of his daggers free from his belt and leans past me to carve several slices of meat. He smells so good I could lick him. Like summer-warmed pine, honeysuckle, warm leather, and sandalwood.
And now I'm starting to feel something other than hunger for food. There's something undeniably hot about a half-naked, solidly built, delicious-smelling prince of Egypt (who's going to be one of the greatest pharaohs of all time) slicing a roast goose with a gold handled dagger. He sits back.
YOU ARE READING
Hathor's Mirror
RomanceNerys Whitaker has it all - a cushy column at History Lives!, a gorgeous flat in a Grade II listed building in a leafy part of London, and a relationship that's lasted more than a year. But in just one day, she loses her job to AI, finds an eviction...
